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Mikko watches Josty’s head list forward dangerously before snapping up. Wide-eyed, he swivels from side to side, and when he catches Mikko staring, he flushes and shrugs bashfully. Mikko furrows his brow and notices Willy stifling a yawn a couple tables over.
Turning to Gabe, he frowns. “Why is everyone so tired? Was there a party after we got in last night that I wasn’t invited to?”
Gabe looks over the room with a pensive expression. “They don’t seem any more tired than normal. We had a late game last night and a red eye afterwards. I think this is pretty typical tiredness.”
Mikko’s not convinced, but Gabe wouldn’t lie to him. “Maybe,” he concedes. “It was a good game.”
Gabe claps his shoulder and shakes him, grin blindingly bright. “It was a great game. You almost had a hat trick.”
Mikko lifts his shoulder humbly. “Have a good team, good linemates.”
Snorting, Gabe lets him go and returns to his eggs and fruit. “You’re sounding like a seasoned vet with those clichés, Mikko.”
“It can be a cliché and still be true,” Mikko protests, and Gabe shakes his head fondly. “Speaking of linemates,” Mikko continues, eyes sweeping over the tables, “have you seen Nate this morning? I don’t think he’s come down for breakfast yet.”
Gabe gives the room another onceover and shrugs. “Maybe he came down earlier, or maybe he ordered room service.”
It’s possible, but Mikko doubts it. Nate isn’t the earliest riser, especially for something as unexciting as breakfast, and he always eats breakfast with the team, always. “Maybe he forgot to set an alarm,” Mikko grins, nudging at Gabe.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“We should go check on him; make sure he doesn’t sleep through practice.”
Gabe stiffens, not a lot but enough for Mikko to feel the difference. “Nah, if he’s not down in the next half hour, we can call him,” he says, voice pitched in a casual tone that sounds too forced to be natural.
It piques Mikko’s curiosity. “Calling him would be boring,” he points out.
“Calling him would be polite,” Gabe counters, and Mikko’s curiosity blossoms into intrigue, heady and tempting.
“You’re so lame,” he teases, but he doesn’t say anything more, turning to scarf down his breakfast as a plan forms in his mind.
When he’s finished, he collects his dishes and pats Gabe on the shoulder, nodding mechanically when he tells him not to get wrapped up in his videogames before practice. He drops his plate near the kitchen and scans the room for the table he wants, grinning triumphantly when he spots EJ sitting with Sammy and the roommates.
“Hey,” he calls, striding over to their table. “EJ, I have a question.”
EJ lifts his head, eyes narrowing. “A question? Or a favor? Because you said question, but your face is saying favor.”
Mikko waves his hand vaguely. “Fine, is question and a favor, but I promise you will like it.”
“How can you be sure?” he asks, suspicion dripping from the words. He hasn’t turned Mikko away though, and he’s set his fork down in favor of giving Mikko his full attention, so he must be a little interested.
“Because,” Mikko replies, flippant, “it involves Nate.”
EJ’s face lights up. “What about Nate?” he asks eagerly.
Mikko gestures around the room. “He hasn’t come down for breakfast yet, which means he is still asleep, which means—”
“That we should give him a nice wake-up call!” EJ finishes, already gathering his dishes. “We just need to get a key to his room from the main desk, and I’m great at that.”
Mikko nods and gives himself a mental fist bump. “Told you it was good.”
EJ offers him a toothy grin. “You guys coming?” he asks, looking everyone over.
Mikko doesn’t think he’s ever seen them move that fast, not in practice and not even in a game. They shovel down their last few bites, pile their plates in a precarious stack, and set off for the front desk, where EJ smooth talks the young attendant into giving him a key for room 613 because yes, he is Nathan MacKinnon of the Colorado Avalanche and he accidentally locked himself out of his room when he came down for breakfast. EJ thanks the man profusely and does a small fist pump when he gets back to the group.
“Let’s go!” he cheers, and they make their way toward the elevator in a herd, elbowing each other and grinning maniacally.
“What are you doing?” a loud voice booms from behind them, and they spin around, thinly-veiled guilt painted across their faces.
Z arches a brow at them, and they all let out relieved breaths.
“First,” EJ hisses, “be quiet. Second, if you’re really so interested, you should just come with us and see for yourself.”
Apparently satisfied, Z nods and joins their little flock as they climb onto the elevator.
“So where are we going?” Z asks once they’re packed inside, the doors nearly grazing Mikko’s ass when they slide shut. “Is this for a prank?”
“Yeah, we’re going to wake Nate up,” JT grins. “How should we do that, by the way? Should we just yell really loudly, or should we like make him think he slept through practice and Bedsy’s real pissed about it, or something else?”
Everyone oohs like fifth graders who just learned you can saran wrap someone’s car as a good practical joke.
“We should do that,” Josty declares. “We should definitely do that. Scaring him would be fun for a second, but we could totally drag it out if we say he missed practice. We could keep him going for a while.”
“We just need to make sure he doesn’t look at his phone immediately because then he’ll definitely know it’s a prank,” Kerf adds, and they all nod because Kerf went to Harvard and always remembers important stuff like that.
“If he tries to grab it, we’ll just hustle him out of bed,” JT says.
“Perfect,” EJ grins, and the elevator dings. “Alright, everyone get your panic faces ready. We really need to sell this.”
Sammy looks thoughtful as they step out. “Should we be scared panicked? Or angry panicked? Or…I don’t know, sad panicked?”
Mikko eyes him. “Panic is panic. Just look panic.”
Frowning, Sammy shakes his head. “But it has to be the right kind of panic. If we really want Nate to believe he missed practice, we have to make the right face. If we do it wrong, he might not believe us.”
That gets some agreement from the group, and EJ tosses his arms around Mikko and Sammy’s shoulders, pulling them into a huddle. “Think of the panic you would feel if we had two minutes to get Nate out of bed and downstairs otherwise Bedsy would bag skate us for a week.”
Their faces pale, color draining away, and EJ nods, satisfied. “That’s exactly the panic we want, boys,” he says. “If we don’t have Nate downstairs in two minutes, we’ve got a week of torture and pain awaiting us. Are you ready?”
“Ready.”
“Yes!”
“Let’s do this.”
“Is too bad we can’t film,” Z sighs, and they all nod in sympathy.
“We’ll just have to remember and tell all the guys about it,” EJ tells him, then peels away from the circle, creeping over to Nate’s door, key card in hand. They huddle around him, looking indiscreetly down the hall to make sure no one is watching. “Bag skate for a week, boys,” EJ reminds them.
Then, he slides the key card into the lock, pushes the door open, and scurries inside. “Nate, Nate, dude, you have to get up!” he cries, and Mikko is truly impressed with the fear that makes his voice tremble and shake.
They spill into the room after him, stumbling through the door in their haste and bumping into furniture.
“Nate, you missed practice!” EJ shouts. “You fucking slept through practice!”
Someone hits the switch, and light floods the room.
There’s a groan from the bed, low and indistinct and displeased. “What the fuck?” the voice mutters, and Nate’s head appears above the covers, hair a wreck and eyes groggy.
“You missed practice, bud!” EJ repeats, waving his hand emphatically. “Bedsy’s pissed.”
Another groan sounds, but Nate’s mouth doesn’t move. “But we have an alarm,” a second voice grumbles, and time seems to slow down, grinding to a near-halt.
Nate’s face goes white for a split second and then flushes a deep, vibrant scarlet. A second head pops up beside his, squinting confusedly at them, and Mikko recognizes the messy hair and sleep-heavy eyes. His mouth drops, and Cale’s eyes go wide when he sees them all, nearly bugging out of his head in shock. EJ comes to an abrupt stop, Z crashing into his back.
“Holy fuck!” Sammy shouts.
“What the fucking hell is going on here?”
“Oh my god, are you sleeping together?”
“Why the fuck are you in here? How’d you get a key?”
“Are you naked? Are you actually both naked under there right now?”
“What is this? WHAT IS THIS?”
“Get out. Please, get out.”
“Holy shit, are you two fucking? Are you seriously fucking?”
“How long has this been going on for?”
“What the hell?”
“Get the fuck out!”
Mikko thinks Nate is attempting to block Cale from view, arms thrown wide like that could actually make any of them forget what they’ve seen. Cale is desperately dragging the blankets up higher to cover them both from the neck down because Mikko is one hundred percent certain neither has any clothes on. EJ is gaping like a fish, mouth opening and closing, words spilling out at random. The roommates are all staring, heads peeking over EJ’s shoulders and around his sides like they aren’t mentally prepared to handle the sight before them. Sammy is shaking his head in disbelief and muttering to himself in French. Z is the only one who doesn’t seem fazed, grin wide and delighted like he knows he’s just landed on a gold mine of chirping material.
“Get out!” Nate shouts, pointing aggressively at the door. “Get out, you assholes!”
“No way!” EJ cries. “What is this? What’s going on?”
“Yeah,” Sammy chimes in, “you said you were going to Matt’s room last night!” He aims an accusing finger at Cale, accent thick. “This isn’t Matt’s room! This is so far from Matt’s room!”
“Get out, all of you! I fucking swear—”
A booming knock interrupts Nate, and they all fall silent, holding themselves still. A series of increasingly louder and angrier knocks follow.
“Open this door right now!” Gabe shouts from the other side, sounding every bit like the NHL captain he is.
No one moves.
“Open the fucking door,” Nate snarls, and Mikko hurries to obey, pressing the handle down and throwing it open.
Gabe glares at him from the other side, eyes cold and jaw set. Tyson is beside him with Willy and Grubi at their backs, peering curiously into the room, clearly having heard the shouting.
“Why do I feel like you’re to blame for this?” Gabe asks, and Mikko ducks his head, wincing.
“Hey,” EJ calls, “it’s not his fault. No one expected to walk in on them getting it on.”
An outraged shout echoes through the room. “Shut the fuck up, you dick! The door’s open. Also, we weren’t even doing anything. We were just sleeping and would have kept sleeping until our alarm went off in…five minutes!”
“Who’s we?” Grubi asks innocently, and Gabe groans.
“Move,” he says, sliding passed Mikko with a disappointed frown.
Shoulders drooping, Mikko trails after him, taking little comfort in the consoling back pat Tyson offers him. They get back to the main area of the room and squeeze into the space that was not designed for a bed, a TV, and eleven hockey players—thirteen if you count the two hiding in the covers, only their heads visible above the duvet.
“Did we not get an invitation to the party?” Willy asks, tone light as he looks around, maintaining his composure even when he catches sight of Nate and Cale.
“No one got a fucking invitation,” Nate spits, glowering at the assembled crowd.
EJ scoffs. “Obviously not no one,” he counters with a wave towards Cale who probably couldn’t get any redder if he tried.
Nate scowls. “That’s not the same, and you know it.”
“I don’t actually,” EJ retorts. “Could you please explain to me why that isn’t the same? Because ten minutes ago, I would have called someone crazy if they tried to tell me you and Cale were sleeping together, and yet here we are.”
Gabe steps toward EJ. “They don’t need to explain anything,” he says carefully, “especially not like this.”
EJ turns to eye him. “Did you already know about this?” he asks. “Holy shit, you already knew about this, didn’t you? What the hell.” He glares at Nate. “You told Gabe, but you didn’t tell me? I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends,” Nate groans, “even though you’re an asshole.”
“I’m not an asshole,” EJ sputters. “You’re an asshole for not telling me about this. What the fuck, man. Since when do you like dick? Since when do either of you like dick?”
They both shrug, the movement awkward beneath the heavy duvet, and mumble unintelligible responses.
“Is this like a thing?” JT pipes up, still mostly behind EJ. “Like, are you…dating or is this just a hookup thing?”
Cale looks offended. Nate looks annoyed.
“We’re not hooking up,” Nate bites out.
“Dating,” Cale supplies. “We’re dating.”
Somehow that surprises Mikko more than a casual hookup, and he tries to look at them in a new light, tries to see how they would fit together as a couple. It’s…weird, certainly not something he’s ever had to do with two teammates, but the fact that they’re already in bed together and clearly spent the night there helps him see it. It’s still weird though.
“How long?” EJ asks.
Nate shrugs. “A few weeks, give or take.”
“A few weeks,” EJ repeats, incredulous. “And Gabe knows? Who else knows?” He looks at everyone, assessing. “Tyson, you know, don’t you? You’d be freaking out right now if you didn’t. There’s no way Nate didn’t tell you.” He turns back to Nate with a frown. “I can’t believe you told Tyson and Gabe but not me.”
Huffing, Nate hunches his shoulders. “To be fair, we didn’t tell them. Tyson walked in on us, and Gabe got him white girl wasted until he told him.”
“That is not how it happened,” Gabe protests primly. “I just knew that he was keeping something from me, and it’s not my fault Tyson can’t hold his liquor.”
“It is your fault for taking advantage of that though,” Cale counters, and Mikko is amazed that he can sound so calm and reasonable, huddled naked in bed with a teammate surrounded by other teammates.
Gabe falls silent, chastised, and everyone looks at each other, not really sure what to say.
“Right,” Cale says, drawing himself up as much as one can beneath the cover of a duvet, “so we’re dating. Have been for a while; will be for longer. We would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this because we’d like to keep our privacy, at least for now.” There are nods and murmured agreement around the room. “We would also appreciate it if you could all leave because we have practice soon and want to eat breakfast before then.”
“It’s not like it’s anything we haven’t seen before,” EJ points out, and Nate scowls.
“Get the fuck out, Johnson,” he snaps. “This isn’t the locker room.”
“Is there a difference?”
Cale sighs. “Can you please leave? Seriously.”
EJ looks ready to push his point, but Gabe gives him a vicious elbow to the side that shuts him up.
“Of course,” Willy says. “Congratulations by the way. I think you two make an adorable couple,” and he sounds so damn sincere, gaze earnest and smile bright.
“Yes,” Grubi agrees, nodding vigorously. “You’re very cute.”
Neither Nate nor Cale looks particularly excited to be found cute or adorable, but they mumble out their thanks and repeat the words until all the guys have congratulated them.
“You can leave now,” Cale tells them when they’ve finished, looking like he’s reached the limit of his patience, and Gabe ushers them out the door.
“Sorry about all of this,” he calls. “It won’t happen again.”
There’s a muffled response, and Gabe grins, pulling the door shut.
“Right,” he says, turning to face the group before anyone can get away. “You tell anyone about that, and I will personally end you, got it?” His eyes are fierce and his shoulders straight as he looks at each of them.
“Got it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who would even believe us?”
Gabe rolls his eyes. “People will believe anything. I’m serious though. This isn’t a joking matter, and it’s not something to take lightly.” He looks up and down the hall, checking for any listening ears. “This is their business,” he continues lowly, “and it’ll be their decision if and when they tell people about it. Don’t take that choice away from them.”
“I feel like they could put a little more effort into hiding it, if they actually want to keep this a secret,” EJ points out, and Gabe glares at him.
“I’m sure they weren’t expecting anyone to be sneaking into their room,” he counters.
EJ shrugs. “Technically, we were sneaking into Nate’s room.”
“Technically,” Tyson repeats. “That’s pretty meaningless with those two though. If it’s Nate’s, it’s Cale’s, and the other way around, too.”
Mikko’s mouth turns down in confusion. “I thought they said it’s only been a few weeks since they got together. How is Nate’s stuff already Cale’s? That’s a little bit too serious, yes?”
Tyson and Gabe exchange a long look before turning to Mikko and nodding.
“Why are they—”
The door clicks open, and Cale slips out, freezing when he sees everyone.
“You’re still here,” he stutters, cheeks lighting up. “Uh…what are you still doing here?”
Nate’s head pokes into the hallway, and he frowns when he catches sight of them. “What the hell, guys,” he mutters and steps outside, letting the door drift shut behind him. “None of you would know subtlety if it bit you in the ass.”
“Like you have any room to talk,” EJ counters.
Nate raises a pale brow and shuffles closer to Cale, who shifts his weight just enough that their shoulders brush.
EJ’s mouth turns down. “Fair point.”
“Also, can I get that key?” Nate asks, holding a hand out.
“What key?”
Nate rolls his eyes. “The one you have to our room. The one you shouldn’t have.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re literally holding it,” Cale says, and oh, he is.
He must have been too shocked, too distracted to realize. Shame-faced, EJ hands over the key, and Nate stuffs it in his pocket.
“See you on the bus,” he says and moves passed them toward the elevators, Cale just a half-step behind.
Mikko wonders if they’ve always walked that close and he just hasn’t noticed. It seems embarrassingly obvious now.
“Very cute,” Grubi declares.
Mikko has to agree.